*Three Poems from Nine Indian Women Poets* The Dance of the Eunuchs (from *Summer in Calcutta*)
It was hot, so hot, before the eunuchs came To dance, wide skirts going round and round, cymbals Richly clashing, and anklets jingling, jingling Jingling... Beneath the fiery gulmohur, with Long braids flying, dark eyes flashing, they danced and They dance, oh, they danced till they bled... There were green Tattoos on their cheeks, jasmines in their hair, some Were dark and some were almost fair. Their voices Were harsh, their songs melancholy; they sang of Lovers dying and or children left unborn.... Some beat their drums; others beat their sorry breasts And wailed, and writhed in vacant ecstasy. They Were thin in limbs and dry; like half-burnt logs from Funeral pyres, a drought and a rottenness Were in each of them. Even the crows were so Silent on trees, and the children wide-eyed, still; All were watching these poor creatures' convulsions The sky crackled then, thunder came, and lightning And rain, a meagre rain that smelt of dust in Attics and the urine of lizards and mice.... The Maggots (from *The Descendants*) At sunset, on the river ban, Krishna Loved her for the last time and left... That night in her husband's arms, Radha felt So dead that he asked, What is wrong, Do you mind my kisses, love? And she said, No, not at all, but thought, What is It to the corpse if the maggots nip? The Stone Age (from *The Old Playhouse and Other Poems*) Fond husband, ancient settler in the mind, Old fat spider, weaving webs of bewilderment, Be kind. You turn me into a bird of stone, a granite Dove, you build round me a shabby room, And stroke my pitted face absent-mindedly while You read. With loud talk you bruise my pre-morning sleep, You stick a finger into my dreaming eye. And Yet, on daydreams, strong men cast their shadows, they sink Like white suns in the swell of my Dravidian blood, Secretly flow the drains beneath sacred cities. When you leave, I drive my blue battered car Along the bluer sea. I run up the forty Noisy steps to knock at another's door. Though peep-holes, the neighbours watch, they watch me come And go like rain. Ask me, everybody, ask me What he sees in me, ask me why he is called a lion, A libertine, ask me why his hand sways like a hooded snake Before it clasps my pubis. Ask me why like A great tree, felled, he slumps against my breasts, And sleeps. Ask me why life is short and love is Shorter still, ask me what is bliss and what its price.... --~--~---------~--~----~------------~-------~--~----~ You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "Green Youth Movement" group. To post to this group, send email to [email protected] To unsubscribe from this group, send email to [email protected] For more options, visit this group at http://groups.google.com/group/greenyouth?hl=en-GB -~----------~----~----~----~------~----~------~--~---
